Hell's Rite
by victoria6
Summary: What would you do for your country?


Title: Hell's Rite Author: Victoria Disclaimer: JAG isn't mine. Never will be. I promise to return the characters in more or less the same condition in which I found them. Rating/Class: PG-13 (to be safe)/A Summery: What would you do for your country?  
  
Authors Note: This depressing little piece was inspired by three things. One being War. Two being a Jaina/Kyp fic with a similar plot, I can't disclaim title and author because I can't even remember where I found it. Three, the song (ironically) "Sara" from Fleetwood Mac's single Tusk, which I tried to fit into the story, but it didn't work, sorry guys.  
  
Authors Note (again): A bone for you Mic/Mac shippers (if you exist): Fleetwood Mac was started my two people Mick Fleetwood and John McVie. Hence Fleetwood-Mac, or in the M/M shipper world, Mic(k) and Mac. * Ducking H/M shippers as they throw their single albums at me!* Also, I should have part four of LLR: Steel up by Friday.  
  
Completed: March 20, 2003  
  
HELL'S RITE  
  
UNSPECIFIED LOCATION/ IRAQ  
  
"Mac." The guard opened the door and ushered Harm inside.  
  
"Why are you here?" Mac asked, never lifting her head off her knees. She didn't want to look at him right now.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Harm-"  
  
"No, Mac, don't. Let me talk, okay?" She nodded, but never looked at him. Harm paced around her. "I don't know if I can.do this. Tomorrow, I don't know how I can."  
  
"It's very simple Harm, you-" she looked at him now, but he cut her off again.  
  
"Shh. I can't do it."  
  
"Yes, you can. This is your chance Harm, your chance to save the world. If you don't then in two days everyone dies Harm, no more earth."  
  
"I know. I know. So just listen to me, alright. I need to tell you some things now.Right now."  
  
"What?" Mac asked with trepidation as she rose to her feet.  
  
"I need to tell you.that I love you. I always have and I don't want tomorrow to come without you knowing."  
  
"Don't Harm. Please."  
  
He held a finger to her lips. "I need for you to know.and I can leave now, if you want." He turned away for the door.  
  
"No, Harm. Don't leave.because, I love you, also. I always have and I just never knew how to tell you."  
  
Harm dropped his head into his hands, and sighed heavily, the sadness evident. "This just got 'a lot' harder."  
  
Mac walked around to face him and very gently touched his face with her fingers and his lips before she gently covered them with her own in a very soft tantalizing kiss. "Harm. Stay. If you leave-"  
  
"I'll stay." He whispered and kissed her again.  
  
Later as they lay together Harm touched her face, and kissed the tip of her nose. She giggled a little, and he laughed because she did, and finally they slept. When Mac woke the next morning he was gone. She had known he would be, but she still felt the sting. The black arrow-struck heart he had drawn on her stomach with a ball-point pen was smeared only a little, and she was careful when she rose and prepared for the day before her, not to destroy it further.  
  
It wasn't until she pulled her fingers though her hair that she discovered the lock he'd taken from the underside of her hair. He would be alright. She knew he would be.  
  
Harm stood in the arena of lights, people and cameras, on a slightly raised platform. He didn't move, and he didn't smile. She approached him. A loud, male voice called out to the cameras, she translated for him: Today is a day of sorrow. We have agreed to surrender to the Americans. They have won this conflict, but at what cost?" There were fifteen other men on stage with them, a guard armed with a knife behind each. These were American Special Forces. "We will kill sixteen today. Fifteen Special Forces and the spy who lead them in. Among the executioners today is an American defector, proud to be on my staff."  
  
The minutes ticked by slowly.  
  
No-one saw the tears that he felt when he plunged the knife into her chest, because he didn't let them show, and he refused to cry still when he dropped her lifeless body into the pile of men. He didn't cry when the bodies were lit afire and burned.  
  
He didn't cry even when he was finally alone that night with only her voice softly floating in his mind. The words, so quiet, but full of passion that she'd spoken to him the night before, saying: "Remember Harm, that no matter what, you're not a traitor. You're a man, doing his job. Trust in Webb." She had forgiven him for what he had to do in her words.  
  
Harm had saved the world today, the Iraqi's had stood down from the nuclear standoff with the US after the assassinations, but somehow, it didn't make him proud.  
  
He killed her. He would never forget the look in her eyes when he stabber her. Peace, and fear, but also trust. She had trusted him with her death.  
  
The tears finally came.  
  
~*~Finis~*~ 


End file.
